Standing In My Place
by michellemybelle25
Summary: Five months after the story ends, Christine returns to the opera, finally knowing what she wants, but is it too late for it to be hers?
1. Chapter 1

I do not own the characters; they were borrowed from various versions of Phantom of the Opera.

Hello, all! The story I have today will be in three separate parts that I am posting all at once since it is finished. It's just too long for one post. This is a continuation story told from Christine's POV, and although it is a happy ending, I like to make the characters work for it a little bit. Please let me know if you like it.

SUMMARY: Five months after the story ends, Christine returns to the opera, finally knowing what she wants, but is it too late for it to be hers?

"Standing In My Place"

Five months…. My God, had it really been five months? And here I was in the exact place I had once stood, looking up at a familiar image, one so deeply engrained into my subconscious that it haunted me in a way that I could never truly be free of. The opera house with its stone spires, its once so seemingly magical countenance. Had I really been enchanted by it upon first sight? Naïve…, yes, I had been naïve, but that was years before in that first glimpse when the true dark horrors within had been unfathomable to one so young and innocent. And somewhere along my sordid journey during my time within those walls, the same nightmares that had once terrified me had become my life and had bound themselves so inextricably within what had once been a pure soul until they had made it as tarnished as everything else. And now who was I? …_What_ was I? Questions I had sought answers to had only led me back to this place, …as if nothing had changed.

A chill hung in the air that stirred dark curls and made them play in and out of my line of vision, occasionally muddling my image of that loosely-defined version of home that stretched above me and buried me beneath in its shadow. To anyone who saw me standing there staring, I probably looked as if I was debating whether or not to go in; why else would I have remained in that spot so long? But that decision had already been made and was unavoidable. My hesitation came in the form of a necessary gathering of strength and courage, a collecting of any shred of dignity I still bore. Five months away, and it had been my own choice to leave with all paths to eventually lead back here, …to lead back home. Was there a valid explanation or justification to any of it? Not one I could argue well enough. …Dear God, what was I going to say to those mismatched eyes when they would most certainly be staring right through my very being? …Was it foolishly optimistic to even hope that that would be the outcome, that he would be here any longer? …But how much did it hurt to wonder any differently?! He _had to be_ here….

Five months with a heart that had taken as long to understand itself, and still I was lingering on the threshold, apprehensive to my core. His last impression of me and my undetermined affections had been that I had longed to be the wife of the Vicomte de Chagny. Only the truth was that I had not seen Raoul in five months either, …not since I had left him and never looked back.

Let me state my own case; my mind needed to ponder its facets again anyway. In that last night at the opera, a choice had been made by a confused child, a choice to stay, a choice that at its essence was the right one, but the girl who had made it had been too overwrought to realize it. Perhaps Erik had seen that; I could never have been sure of his thoughts, no matter how tortured I had been dwelling on them all this time. He had pushed me to go, to leave with the Vicomte; I hadn't wanted the Vicomte. Within the week, I had left him equally as broken as I had left Erik, only I had cared less. My impetus for what had followed and an extensive hiatus from every bit of the past tortures, had been a necessary need to find my very self, to learn and understand exactly _what_ my heart wanted. For five months, I had hibernated away from the world, away from life, alone and in a perpetual silence, one that lacked music and companionship and bore a minimal amount of speech and human contact at best. …And what had I learned? What secrets of my heart had come to the surface and thrived bright as day beneath the dissipating layers of the pain and fear I had been victim to for so long? I loved Erik…. I loved him. Thinking the words even still seemed so new and yet not at all odd or awkward, as if their existence had always breathed in the corners and was just now brought to the forefront and put on display to me. At first, I had continued to question it, wondering if I had been coerced into it, if I had simply decided it was real under the loneliness of isolation. But no. It was indeed a reality, _my_ reality. And as I had continued to strive to understand myself and how it could be, I had come to realize, bitterly so, that I didn't know my self at all, that I felt more lost than I had ever felt in my life. Lost because Erik was my rock. How long had things been that way, and I had so callously refused to see any of it?

In conclusion, sometimes self discovery cannot be undertaken alone…; well, at least not if the self one is seeking is tied unbreakably to another human being's existence and is willingly contingent on everything that is his. I didn't know myself without Erik. My very soul seemed to have an empty void within it that wanted him and only him, and my heart…, oh my poor heart, it was being held so fragilely in one place, stagnant, unable to find emotion whatsoever without its very inspiration to beat. It seemed ridiculous. For so long, I had run from exactly these feelings, but the point was and had always been that they had thrived on and had, in so many ways, been returned by Erik even as I had denounced him. _He_ had always been sure in them; _he_ had always been confident of them. I could almost resent him for that.

And now here I was…to do what? Tell him he had been right all along? Beg for his love? Pray he would still want me? …Was it any wonder then that I was in need of every ounce of bravery I could muster? And yet at the same time, I knew with utter certainty that he must be suffering as much as I was, that he had to feel as lost as I did. I just didn't know if in the midst of pain, he could forgive me…. My heart insisted that he had to.

One final steadying breath, and I forced my numb legs to carry me into the opera house's arched doorway. The moment I entered the lobby, a barrage of memories overwhelmed my senses, forming the tears that crowded my eyes. Home…, yes, I felt like I had come home. From within the theatre, music poured out. Music! I had almost forgotten how beautiful it was! The orchestra was playing a small interlude, and then La Carlotta's voice raised and sang an aria I knew by memory and imitated in my head. How often had Erik made his dislike for Carlotta's musical abilities known to me? Always insisting how much greater my talent was? To my young ears back in those days, Carlotta had been god-like, and I had always believed Erik to be exaggerating. My time under his tutelage, however, had taught me to hear with _his _ears, to always want more, and therefore I had never listened to music the same again. Now, though her voice was comfortingly familiar, I cringed to hear her slide through the notes of a cadenza to make it to a high note; shouldn't every pitch be treated with equal importance? And I was vividly reminded that I was far from the child who had once walked these halls. I _felt_ grown.

Dismissing a scene I could only be an outsider to, I headed for the corridor that was lined in dressing rooms, careful to keep my identity concealed from ballerinas and chorus members rushing in and out, passing me without much notice anyway. It surprised me to realize I only recognized a few. So many new faces. After Erik's reign and the way he had shaken up the very air of the opera, I could guess why many had left. Being terrified for one's life could accomplish that.

The last room at an end of a hall that was currently unlit had been mine, and by the sheer lack of commotion that met me, I could guess that it might be vacant. Many had believed that it had held the spirit of the Opera Ghost. Ignorant fools, and yet in some way, they had been right, for within its walls was one of the secret entrances into Erik's world, an entrance I had used more times than I could count. That was my current objective, to follow that dream-worn path through my dressing room mirror and beneath the surface of the earth. It would be dark and damp and carry the musty smells of dirt and mold, and I felt my heart lift with anticipation for those very things.

No one saw me enter the room; no one cared. As if I had stepped into the past, I knew a wave of nostalgia; nothing was out of place, the room nearly exactly as I had left it, and I scurried to turn up the flickering flames of the oil lamps, desperate to see and savour every detail. My God, I could almost pretend that nothing had changed, that I had just entered the room to prepare for a performance, that Erik's voice would meet me from behind the mirror…, and probably rage over the Vicomte's presence in the crowd, toss idle threats as he often had. At the time, influenced by Raoul's constant insistence, I had dreaded that voice and had convinced myself that Erik had been the villain, that I must hate him because how could I ever want to be with the murdering opera ghost? I had been such a fool! I had never chosen to instead see the man with the breaking heart. Fool? More than that, I had been heartless myself! …Things would be different this time.

My eyes shifted to focus on the vision being reflected in the mirror's glass, and I was almost amazed that that was actually me. I looked…confident, in control of my life in a way I never had been before. The last time that girl and those blue eyes had stared back, I had seen fear and confusion and a child about to break in two. Now I was a woman with a purpose, and it made me seem to shine from within. Erik had once put that glow there, and I had let Raoul extinguish it. Now I myself had put it back.

Smiling with my own exuberance, I reached for the small lever I knew would open the doorway for me, …but just before I could activate it, the mirror suddenly began to move on its own. I leapt back with surprise and stared, wide-eyed, at whoever was about to exit the catacombs.

"We'll work on that opening cadenza tomorrow in your lesson." That voice…. I would have known it anywhere, …but who was he speaking to? …Whose lesson…?

Before I could ponder if hiding would be a viable option, two mismatched eyes suddenly met mine as Erik halted abruptly on the threshold of the dressing room, a gasp slipping from that masked face. …And I could only stare back, lost for words, lost for thought or coherency, every image of that confident woman evaporating and regressing back to the terrified child. …Erik…, my Erik….

"You…," he stammered out, unusually struggling for words himself. "You…you're…here."

"Erik, what is it?"

Both of our solemn gazes shifted to the small woman stepping alongside Erik and into the room with us, she studying me as intently as I was suddenly studying her. An imitation of me…. How could I conclude anything else? She had to be near my own age, perhaps even younger, small, trim, pretty…, and I hated her immediately with every fiber of my being.

"Colette," Erik said to the girl, regaining most of his usual composure. "This is Christine."

I was wincing on the inside. To hear him say my name as though I was little more than an acquaintance twisted the knife in my gut. I could remember a day when he had made it sound like the most beautiful word in recorded language.

Trying to nod with a modicum of politeness to the girl, I muttered a soft, "Nice to meet you," and took note of her shiny dark hair and gleaming dark eyes. Yes, my eyes had gleamed when I had been Erik's pupil as well….

"Christine," the girl suddenly gushed. "Christine Daaé?" At my nod and further internal cringe, her face lit up brighter. "You are a legend around the opera. Everyone mentions your name with such awe. They say you were the best soprano ever on the stage."

"She was indeed," Erik agreed solemnly, and even as my eyes shot to his with a flicker of confused hope, he seemed so utterly detached from the scene, …as if I could have been anyone.

Colette's glow did not dim as her dark eyes came to rest on my Erik. "How could she not have been with you as her teacher, Maestro?"

I felt sick, utterly soul and body sick. I wanted to throttle this girl with my bare hands, raging on the inside at the same time as my heart wept tears of blood. Colette…, his new pupil, …his new protégé, …his new love.

She never took notice of my agonized look as she gave a sweet, bubbly giggle and continued on to me as if we had quickly become the dearest of friends. "Erik is the most wonderful teacher I've ever had. I am so fortunate that he chose me and pulled me out of the chorus to study with him. Perhaps someday with his guidance, I'll be able achieve everything that you did."

This had to be a nightmare! It just had to be! Pulled out of the chorus? Was he purposely looking for a substitute for me then? Our stories couldn't have been more similar, and as I met his ever-vigilant stare, I hoped he saw the contempt that I was feeling, razor sharp and unceasing in my gaze.

"What are you doing here, Christine?" he only then asked, his expression never changing from the stern apathy it seemed sculpted into.

"I…I came to see Meg," I smoothly lied, feigning the same aloofness but not as skilled at it. If one looked close, one would see the cracks.

"And you wandered down to this room, …why?" he probed further. Dear God, his eyes were so intently scrutinizing me, seeking my flaws with an eagerness that was almost cruel.

"I was seeking some privacy," I answered back, "since I had to wait until rehearsal ended."

"Well, you came to the right place," Colette interrupted with her gleeful grin still attached. "This room isn't used anymore. Erik was saying that perhaps it could be mine, but…well, I guess we'll see. Wasn't this your dressing room?"

"Yes," I breathed softly in reply. What more could I say to that? It _was_ mine, and now…now it would be hers…just like everything else.

"Colette." As Erik drew her attention, my aghast eyes could only see the way he had so delicately touched her forearm as he spoke. A casual touch…; I had once had casual touches all my own, too. "We worked pretty hard today," he gently told her. "You should go and get some well-deserved rest."

She dutifully nodded under her ever-charming smile. "Until tomorrow then, Maestro." Turning that exaggerated sweetness to me, she added, "Lovely to meet you, Christine. I hope we see each other again."

I don't honestly know if I made a reply. My focus was stolen by the blushing grin she lifted back to Erik, screaming of flirtation before she thankfully took her leave. Flirting…, flirting with Erik…. And I had no right to argue against it. He wasn't mine anymore.

"Christine," he said once his imitation of me was gone and the door closed behind her, "I thought the Vicomte kept you on a shorter leash than this. You've mercifully avoided this place for months. I was hoping that would be a permanent situation."

…Raoul. So then Erik obviously did not know that the Vicomte was no longer a part of my life. And hurt as I was, I felt disinclined to say otherwise, fighting tears with the harshness of his words.

"I…I'm sorry," I stammered out as I strove to pick up the scattered remnants of my confidence. "I hadn't anticipated running into you or your student. I'll be more careful in the future." My only desire now was to get out of there, to put as much distance as I could between myself and the endless eyes bearing so coldly into me. It was stinging my skin to endure them.

"Are you all right?" he suddenly asked, but there was no genuine concern in his voice.

"Fine." I managed a forced smile, swallowing another rise of tears. Later…later, I would cry. "Have you been teaching again for awhile?" The questions were going to kill me, and yet I felt desperate for their answers.

"A couple of months," he replied nonchalantly. "Colette's my only student. You know how I don't favor recognition."

"Oh, …and does she know _who_ you actually are?" I knew that was utterly cruel of me, and I knew it would hurt him. Part of me wanted it to.

The only evidence I received of my direct hit to the gut was a tightening of his jaw. "Yes, she knows who I am, …and she doesn't care."

The breath was knocked out of me, and I almost succumbed to crying right there. _No! Strong!_ I commanded of myself. But a waver of my voice betrayed me as I abruptly insisted, "I…I have to go. Meg will be expecting me."

And before he could say another word, I rushed out of the room and into a busy hallway full of voices and footsteps of life and a world I could never belong to again.

Since I was there and alone, a step away from a torrent of tears, I decided to make my lie hold some aspect of truth and looked for Meg. She and I had been the equivalent of sisters back when we had both suffered from the affliction of our naïveté together, and in that vein, she squealed with delight to see me and embraced me without pause. Meg, unchanged, the same girl she had been upon our first meeting; I wasn't equally that fortunate.

Her excited insistence that we had to catch up on our lost time led us to a small nearby café. I was simply content to be out of the opera and away…. With coffee cups in hand, we huddled close at a back table beyond the growing cold that evening was bringing and giggled like schoolgirls over ballet gossip as we had done in those bittersweet days. With Meg, time felt as if it had never passed by us, as if the gap between those days and these was but a long, drug-induced sleep. It was an escape that I would have chosen to be lost to forever.

But, of course, reality had to return with her soft, hesitant question. "So…how long have you been back?"

"I only arrived this morning," I somberly replied, my eyes lowering to the staining remnants of coffee at the bottom of my cup.

"And…you came to the opera?" She was fishing for the full extent of the tale, her inquisitive green eyes narrowing in the one quick glance I gave her. "As glad as I am to see you, I am having a hard time believing you came there just for me."

I wouldn't look at her again; I couldn't when tears were rimming my eyes. "You know, I went away to make some decisions about my life, to try to learn what I really wanted and what I really felt…. I guess I had ignorantly presumed that the rest of the world would hold still until I returned. Instead…I came with hope in my heart…only to find that I had been replaced, and everything that was once mine isn't anymore."

Out of the corner of my blurry gaze, I caught Meg's nod; it seemed sincere and as somber as my own emotions. "He asked about you; did you know that?" Her voice was little more than a whisper that I latched onto immediately with greedy hands, only then meeting her sympathetic stare.

"He…he did?"

"The week after you left. He came to me; he seemed so utterly…_broken_, I guess is the best word. There wasn't much left of the terrifying phantom we were all afraid of for so long. He thought you were off with Raoul. He asked me if you were happy. I know he wanted me to say no, but how could I? You had me promise not to tell him where you were, and I didn't feel it was my place to speak on the subject of Raoul either lest he decide to go after you. …So I just told him yes, that you were happy, and I watched his hope shatter and watched him leave. …I'm sorry, Christine."

In my head was an image I had only barely glimpsed, the last one I had had of Erik from that night. Broken he had been then, too, crying, as lost as I was in my soul. Just as ignorantly, I had been the cause.

"It's not your fault, Meg," I told my apologetic friend amidst my own tears. "';I should be thanking you for respecting my wishes. …As I said, I was foolish to believe Erik would simply be here waiting for me…. I just thought that if my heart was hurting so much, his must be as well, …that if he loved me as deeply as he had claimed to, he wouldn't be able to so easily move on to loving someone else in my stead."

"He does _not _love Colette," Meg firmly stated. "He's teaching her, probably needed _something_ to keep himself busy and distracted, but that's not love."

"Do you know her?" I dared to ask, unsure I wanted the truth. How much of my life had this girl already assumed? Was she close friends with Meg as well?

But Meg's rolled eyes gave me another answer altogether. "Know, as in can barely tolerate her sugarcoated smiles and bubbly giggles. She was already the attention-seeker of the newly instated chorus. Since she began with her lessons, her ego has shifted upward about a hundred notches. She is so certain that she will one day be the diva of the stage. I'd love to see her face if she ever heard you sing; it would probably put a nicely sized dent in her overabundance of confidence."

I understood all too well why the girl would think so highly of herself. Erik was always overly indulgent with his compliments as a teacher. In my own regard, I had taken his every word and had used them to encourage myself for even more, desperate to please him further; Colette had obviously built her own self-chiming brigade from them. I had never been able to do that; even Meg's compliments now gave me a rush of shyness instead of self-pride. Erik had once called such a trait endearing, and I had to wonder if he approved of his new protégé's arrogance. …Maybe it was refreshing to him.

One particular thought on the subject buzzed annoyingly in my brain until I had to ask Meg, "Do other people know that Erik is around again? They were out for blood once before." Blood and death, and I was still unclear as to how he had ever been able to escape them.

"No, he's kept relatively quiet as of late, and thankfully, Colette has enough sense not to go around telling people anything beyond that she is taking lessons with a great teacher. I am not so easily fooled; I saw right through her pretense from the beginning." Making a face that I had to smile to behold, Meg added, "I really do not like that girl."

"Well, neither do I, but most of my disregard comes from petty jealousy. I guess that doesn't say very much about my own confidence or character, but I had the urge to strangle her with my bare hands today."

"I feel you have every right," Meg declared with a nod. "She has practically usurped your entire life. She wants to _be_ you. The little imposter! …But, Christine, please realize that Erik does _not_ love her. You can't love someone when you're already in love with someone else."

The melancholy returned with a vengeance on my agonized heart. "He treated me today like I was no more than a distant acquaintance, Meg, like I could have been any random stranger on the street."

"He's still hurting," she explained patiently. "And I'm sure it was a shock for him to see you. Did you tell him anything? Where you were? Anything about Raoul or your currently nonexistent relationship with him?"

I shook my head. "He still thinks I'm in love with Raoul, and I didn't protest. How could I when I had just come face to face with my replacement? It seemed futile to break down and confess my undying love to a man who seemed to give little care whatsoever to my very existence." Pushing back a wave of more vivid tears on the subject, I had to change the topic altogether if only to stay in one piece. "Have you had any news of Raoul lately?"

"Ah, the Vicomte," Meg dramatically sighed. "I will be entirely honest with you since you are thankfully not still convinced that you are in love with the man. After you left, he went through some sort of heartbroken transition, a bereavement period of sorts. He carried on with a few of the ballerinas, in secret, of course, because he seemed desperate to stay as disconnected from the opera itself as he possibly could. Too many memories of you perhaps. That went on for about a month, and then he disappeared. I heard from one of the girls that he said he was going off to some family estate in the southern part of the country. I don't think he could stand to be here anymore. No one has heard from him since."

There was a bit of guilt attached to that story on my part to realize what I had driven him to, but he had genuinely loved me. And love had this tendency of shattering souls when it was of the unrequited sort.

When I had no reply for Meg, she grew quiet a long moment before suddenly daring to ask, "What are you going to do now, Christine? You're not going to give up and leave again, are you?"

Leaving wouldn't solve anything, as I well knew. But staying…, did I even possess enough bravado to stay or to fight? I had called myself strong upon my return, and that had so quickly fallen to pieces. Staying could possibly mean breaking my own heart. Could I do that? And yet wasn't it on that path already?

"May I suggest something?" Meg continued, and an excited gleam in her eyes drew my attention and a curious arch of my brows. "Well, our dearest managers are going to be conducting an audition at the completion of the current production, searching for new blood and new voices. La Carlotta hasn't been drawing the crowds she used to; in my opinion as well as the vast majority of cast and crew, it is past time for her to retire from performing altogether. This audition is a polite way of encouraging her cooperation, though you and I both know that it will be a battle for whomever they hire as she will no doubt shoot her venom in their direction. You've been her target once before, and I'm sure you realize how difficult she will make things. Anyway, the audition is open to anyone and everyone. …Why not audition yourself and reclaim your throne?"

My impulse told me to refuse the very idea, but the longer I pondered it, the more feasible it seemed. Granted I was five months out of practice, but I tended to throw all of myself into a task when I undertook it. Yet again in my life, singing could become my escape and my salvation.

"And you know," Meg added with a sneer, "I am certain Colette will be auditioning, hoping to be moved out of the chorus."

The fraction of a diva in me perked up to hear that as I demanded, "Is she good?"

Meg shrugged, tossing her golden curls. "Decent; obviously she's gotten better since she's been taking lessons, but personally, I find her tone a bit too nasal for my tastes. She is most definitely not on your level."

"Five months without singing would argue with you," I replied, that persistent flicker of self-doubt always lingering in the background. "When is the audition being held?"

"In three weeks. Is that time enough for you to prepare?"

"It can be," I whispered more to myself. An idea was dimly beaming in a soul that had felt numb for hours, a plausible course that could inevitably find me what I really wanted in its process. "With the right teacher, of course."

I saw Meg's sudden understanding of my plan, her smile growing to match mine. "And…you think he would concede to teach you?"

"I think given the right ruse on my part, he'd have little choice. …Only…am I really audacious enough to go through with it? I'd have to act as unemotional and aloof as he is."

"Which is exactly why you shall," Meg declared adamantly. "Let him see how it feels. Play his game."

"Well," I conceded with a sigh, "it's better than laying my heart vulnerably at his feet." A surge of a thrill raced my veins. The stage…, to sing…, I could feel the pull within me for that very thing. "So I'll audition…, and I'll retrieve my life from that girl, my life _and_ my heart. I can't give them up."

Meg nodded with equaled excitement, and that was it. I had found my path, and I was determined to have my ending by my own choices this time.


	2. Chapter 2

My first step was made the very next day. Courage in my fisted hands, I returned to the opera and strode down the long, dark path to Erik's home on my own, already aware via Meg's observant information that he would be in the midst of a lesson with Colette. The last thing I needed was to be caught off guard before I myself was calm and ready to lay my proposition in place. Besides that, the bit of a diva in me was eager to overhear my competition and get an idea for myself what I would be put up against.

Echoes of her voice met me before I even arrived at the door's threshold, vibrato resounding, a large voice to be sure, but, as I told my immediate surge of jealous panic, a large voice did not necessarily mean a good one. La Carlotta was a viable example of that. The closer I got, the more the flaws showed through. I could pick out the hints of the technique Erik was teaching, the way he was trying to get her to fully support her voice on the air, and I guessed he had made significant progress, though there was much further to go yet. It wasn't a horrid voice altogether. I could hear the nasal quality Meg had spoken of, but once the breath was established, the tone could be made more open and flexible. I already knew without question that that would be Erik's course of action. It amazed me to admit just how much I had learned to think like him.

I did not feel like an intruder as I quietly entered the house, even though in all actuality, I was exactly that. I couldn't help it. The house still felt like home to me, reminding me how often I had taken sanctuary from the world within its walls. And nothing looked changed. I was perusing the vacant sitting room seeking any minute detail that was altered from memory's distinctions and yet I could find none, …save me, my own odd presence in this place I was no longer wanted.

In the music room down the hall, Colette was working on a Gounod aria, one I admitted with a modicum of satisfaction to myself that I had sung in my very first lessons with Erik. Forcing my focus to the accompaniment of the piano beneath that voice, I could vividly name Erik's skill. Dear Lord, how he played so brilliantly! I could remember times when I had fumbled entrances because I had become so engrossed in watching him play. In my head now was the very memory as if it was me he was playing for. His hands would be moving so fluidly across the keys, like a work of art.

…And then as I continued to listen, he abruptly stopped mid-phrase, and I went rigid where I stood in the sitting room. He knew I was there; I couldn't say how such a thing was plausible with walls separating our corporeal bodies, but he was sensing my nearness. It wasn't the first time such a phenomenon had occurred; in fact, I was half-hoping for and expecting it.

True to prediction, within the breath, he was striding down the hallway from the music room, his stare fierce when it hit me with the fullness of its force.

"I don't seem to recall inviting you to my home," he stated flatly, but this time I did not let a single letter of it pierce to my core, carrying myself with a certain dignified apathy to rival his. "What are you doing down here, Christine?"

By this time, little Colette had joined us, her dark eyes glancing idly from her teacher to me as if trying to read us, which I prayed she couldn't.

Ignoring her, I concentrated my efforts on Erik, desperate to appear unaffected by those waves of power his very aura exuded. In the past, they would have unraveled me and made me a willing victim falling at his feet. Was it any wonder then that I had had to flee from him to clear and understand my own mind?

Seeking haughtiness, I replied, "I have a business matter to discuss with you…alone, if that is possible."

Part of me wondered if he would reject my presence entirely, toss me out to Colette's probable enjoyment or, worse yet, let her stay and eavesdrop on our conversation, and when he hesitated to reply, I felt sure my most awful assumptions were about to come true. But then he turned his eyes to my eager little replacement instead.

"Colette," he began in a gentle tone that contradicted the one he was using with me, "you may go for the day. We were about finished anyway."

She pouted. The girl actually pouted! And I almost giggled aloud to consider the gagging face Meg would have made in response had she seen it. "Must we end so soon, Maestro? I practiced so much to please you today."

"You did please me," he replied, and I had to reign in a wave of jealous rage when he cast a look my way; it was as if he wanted me to seethe on his words. "Now go on, Colette, and we'll meet again tomorrow."

"Yes, Erik." The smile followed, the one from the day before that sickened me to witness, and then thankfully, she was gone, her footsteps echoing back till she disappeared into the catacombs.

Before the door had even closed behind her, Erik's attention was fully back on me, his eyes bearing through my skin to bone as he waited to speak. I met that stare head on with one thought; I _wanted_ him to study me and see into my soul. Perhaps if he did, he'd see what my heart was feeling so candidly.

"And now that we are alone," he pushed after a moment.

I wouldn't let him shake me, and idly strolling the sitting room as if I was curiously examining its details, I dared to demand in a sharp tone that surprised even myself to hear, "So…does your new little protégé stay in my bedroom here? Wear my gowns perhaps? Did you even bother to buy the girl her own, or maybe you prefer when she dresses like me as well?"

I knew I had pushed my observations a bit too far, angry with myself to sound so petty when I was desperate for aloofness, and the amused flicker I caught in his stare agreed as much.

"No," he replied under the slight curve of an arrogant grin. "Colette does not stay here. I've already learned of the sheer necessity of separating professional and personal affairs. She only comes down here for her lessons."

It had to be wrong to be so relieved with that news, but I was. Just to consider her sleeping under the same roof as my Erik renewed every jealous fervor in my veins to consuming heights.

"So?" Erik's growing annoyance broke my thoughts. "Are you going to tell me why you are here or not?"

Shoulders straight, deep breath, and I admitted, "I am in need of a teacher to prepare me to audition for the opera."

"Audition?" he inquired skeptically, crossing his arms over his chest. "And what does the Vicomte think of that?"

"Raoul?" Only half a thought was given to telling him the truth. No, not yet. "It doesn't matter what the Vicomte thinks; it's _my_ choice."

"And yet I was under the impression that he no longer wanted you to be singing at the opera."

"Is that what you thought?" I was frowning as I pondered that had I stayed with Raoul, that would have been the truth. Vicomtesses did not sing onstage; I likely would have been reminded of exactly that.

"Five months out of practice," he was accusing my very own fears, "and you expect to audition and be at your best. It's rather optimistic on your part."

Shrugging with feigned nonchalance, I replied, "That's why I am in need of guidance…. If you will not teach me, I will find someone else." There. My threat of sorts. It would be as poignant as any ultimatum to him, and I knew that.

"Someone else?" The disgust was wound tightly in his voice. "You would let someone else, some _stranger_ destroy all I have created for you? To disengage the technique I spent hours perfecting and apply their own? Is that really what you want?"

"Well, no, it's not what I want, but if you won't teach me, I see few other options." Mimicking his crossed-arm pose, I retained my detached façade as I added, "I realize that you are quite busy with your current student, and I wouldn't want to intrude. Perhaps another teacher is my best course of action."

"How dare you even consider it?" he snapped, and I had to stifle the urge to smile, knowing I was about to get what I wanted. "As if I would let you! If you are so adamantly determined to audition, it leaves me no choice _but_ to take you on as my student. I cannot allow all of my hard work and everything attached be in vain. Yet I caution you now, I will expect no less that a full commitment from you. Music has to become your life again, the very air you breathe."

Music…, to me, that meant Erik. "I've never let you down…as your student at least. You know me, Erik. You know that I will give you everything."

I saw the slight reaction from my words that he could not seem to conceal, peeking through his apathy, and for a moment, I felt sure he would at least say something in return, something without the coldness attached. His eyes were flickering in a way I had not seen in months, a desire in their deepest recesses, but abruptly, he shoved it away with a resolve I had not anticipated and returned us to our primary goal.

"Then all right," he agreed. "I will teach you…beginning presently."

"Now?" I had not prepared for an impromptu lesson and was almost unnerved with the very idea considering exactly how out of practice I was, …and yet how could I argue? My lessons had always been the highlight of my every day.

With a solemn nod, he gestured down the hall toward the music room, and like the obedient pupil I had once been and was determined to be again, I conceded.

It had to be awkward at first; there was no other way things could be as I took my former place in the bow of the piano and eyed him intently as he sat before the keys.

"Just a scale to start," he instructed and struck a chord.

I opened my mouth and began to sing. …And instantly, I was enthralled by his unhidden response to those first few notes. My God, how he seemed to savour the very sound itself! Of course, it was not my best, tighter than it should have been, needing a bit more air and openness and a lot more confidence than I was feeling. And yet he seemed to relish it as the most beautiful sound ever heard, those mismatched eyes closing as the breath spilled out of him in a sort of sigh. I had no argument; it was, after all, _his_ voice, molded and shaped by his hands.

One scale, and instead of moving up the half-step as I expected, he stopped and opened his eyes to stare at me without walls purposely placed between us. More to himself than me, he breathed, "The voice of an angel."

I was shaken to my core. Hadn't those been the very first words he had spoken to me back when I had honestly believed _him_ to be the angel? Then, I had taken it as the highest compliment he could have given, relishing it, replaying it over and over again in my head in every moment I had not been in his presence. Now, it created a haze of tears in my eyes that I restrained from becoming a current.

We went on from there, and to my own surprise, fell right back in to our abandoned roles of teacher and student. It wasn't so difficult a task when he wanted to inspire me and I yearned to learn. During that blissful time, it was just so simple. We could forget everything else and let the music be enough, let it say what thrived in our hearts beneath the layers of pain and damage we had inflicted upon each other.

The days to follow were a similar form of bliss. Every afternoon I came down to his home as Colette was finishing her lesson, no longer listening to her overdone sounds when I knew that in mere moments I would be Erik's sole focus and be able to see the awe that was always on his masked face when he taught me. Almost in the very instant I entered the underground home, I would hear him end Colette's lesson, rather abruptly, but I knew why. He knew I was there, and it thrilled me to know that he was anticipating our time together as much as I was. Of course by time, I meant _lesson_ time. The rest of our tentative relationship bore the same aloofness we had begun with. He wanted me to think he didn't care about me and clasped his heart tightly in his own hands. Only my lessons showed me anything different, and that was quickly becoming not enough for my own aching heart.

Two weeks had gone by in such a way, and with one week left until the auditions, I was growing nervous already. The idea of the stir I was about to cause when I went before managers and company after all of the previous drama I had been a part of made my stomach tighten with dread. Music, I reminded myself over and over again; it was all for the music. Still, my apprehensions were weighing heavily upon my shoulders as I entered Erik's home under the serenade of Colette's repeated attempts at a cadenza. I had to wonder how Erik, as virtuosic and trained a musician as he was, could tolerate it and remain patient when I knew patience was not an innate characteristic for him.

As she finished her latest try and before she could go at it again, I heard his voice from the music room, "All right, Colette. We will end there for the day. You sang well, _cherie_."

'Well' was the only suitable term I could come up with myself after overhearing, and as I lingered in the doorway of the sitting room, I watched my rival stroll down the hall toward me with her overly sweet grin in place. Erik was behind her, and when his eyes met mine over her shoulder, I savoured the quick flash of affection that appeared before he pushed it away, denying his heart so desperately that it left me with a wave of disappointment.

"And how are you, Christine?" Colette was asking with a kindness that could almost seem genuine, …almost at least until she went on with a superficial sort of fakeness. "Are you nervous yet for the audition?"

I knew exactly what she was doing, having endured such attempts at spirit-breaking by La Carlotta, certainly the best at it. Colette was no Carlotta. Tilting my head to the side with my own fake smile, I replied, "Oh, not at all. I've done this often enough to be well-versed at it. Your aria is sounding nice." I had to add that comment, playing her game no matter how much I knew I shouldn't. I knew that just being aware that I had heard her and was listening would rattle her haughtiness.

"Oh," Colette stammered, her smile wavering only a moment, "…thank you…. I mean I have a few places to fix, but Erik says that it suits my voice so well. I feel as if it was made just for me…. Have you ever sung it?"

I admired her persistence at keeping up her almost-sweet demeanor while making such sharp jabs, and yet I pushed right back. "Yes, in my very first lessons actually. It was a bit simple for my tastes; I found I needed more of a challenge."

"Colette," Erik interrupted our biting exchange, and yet I swore that I caught the slightest tinge of amusement in his eyes. I could guess why; he had never before seen me act the prima donna. Only he would know how contrasting it really was to my true self-doubting nature.

Colette had flipped back around to face Erik at his call, and to my leering stare, she dared to set her hand upon his arm as she beamed, "Yes, Maestro?"

"Christine and I have much to do," he told her, sounding so gentlemanly even in dismissing her. "I shall see you tomorrow, though."

"Actually, I was hoping to come to my lesson a little earlier, if that is all right with you," she practically purred, and I felt my annoyance rising to witness any of this. Dear God, how I wanted to rip her hand away from Erik's arm! "I thought that maybe we could have lunch together first."

The girl was shameless! _And_ a fool! I knew Erik well enough to know he would refuse her. He did not share meals with people, having to take off his mask to eat. In all of our time together, even our days of being so very close, he had always refused to eat with me, no matter how often I had begged and had insisted that his face didn't matter. I had never been sure if he had declined because of my presumed discomfort, one I had been eager to prove did not exist, or his own, desperate to always seem the strong one between us.

"Lunch," Erik repeated stiffly, and then meeting my eye an instant, he answered her, "Yes, lunch sounds lovely."

Lovely! I almost screamed in indignation, fisting my hands so tightly at my sides that my nails drove into my palms in my effort to stay silent. But I knew my eyes would not disguise my jealousy, and as Erik again found my gaze, I was sure he saw it and…. Dear Lord, was he actually enjoying it?! It certainly looked that way!

Regarding Colette's grinning delight again, he patted her hand and said, "Tomorrow then."

She nodded, thrilled to please him, and with only one casual look to my searing stare, she pranced out of the house, every movement exceedingly graceful even if it was all a part of her flirtation. How I hated her!

Without a word to the scene I had just witnessed, Erik proposed, "Shall we begin your lesson then?"

But I did not move, stuck to my spot in the hall as if I had grown roots into the very floor to keep me there. "Lunch?" I dared to snap before I could think better of it. "You're going to have lunch with her?"

"I can't see it to be any of your business." If he was trying to seem like he didn't care, anger was too prevalent and showed through his façade.

"And has she seen your face then? Because you can't eat with your mask to hide behind." Cruel…. Yes, I was being cruel, and I didn't yet know the guilt that would come later from it.

His jaw clenched in a tight line as he retorted, "Lunch can be a social engagement. One does not need to eat to participate in good company."

"Lunch implies sharing a meal, and you can't do that, not if you don't want her to see your face." I saw the rise of his temper, one I had once run away from in terror, but this time I remained defiantly angry right back at him. "Has she seen your face then, Erik? Have you shown her why you wear a mask?"

"Enough!" he roared, and I jumped in spite of myself. "Need I remind you that you have _no_ say in whom I choose to spend my time with. You are _not_ a part of my life anymore!"

"By your own doing!" I shouted back, determined to remain as strong as I needed to be. "And yet how much of a lie is that, Erik? You chose that girl to turn her into me, to make her the person I could never be for you. And now you have been only too happy to toss that fact up at me at every turn, to try and hurt me with it!"

"Hurt you? I don't _care_ about you! You selfish child! I have no feeling left for you, save hatred!"

I wanted to insist in my heart of hearts that he was lying, but to glimpse the fire so blatantly burning in his biting glare, to feel exactly that hatred play through him and creep across my skin…. It formed those unwanted tears in my eyes and brought me to silence as I lowered my head to hide their existence, sure he would use my own emotions against me.

Since I would not look up at him, I did not see him reach out, did not know anything until his hands caught my upper arms and suddenly yanked me near to him.

"You foolish girl!" His golden voice cracked under his emotions, ones I gasped to behold as I dared to meet a stare I had thought would only curse me. No, all I found was a match of my own tears.

"Erik," I whispered on the verge of a sob. Nothing stood in the way of that heart; nothing hid its truths from my desperate observance. It was all I had been longing to see! And then that beautiful heart was twisting with a growing resurgence of rage as his grip on my arms became viselike, and he gave me a violent shake that I cried out to endure.

"What you've done to me!" he shouted. "My God, _what you've done to me_!! I don't feel! I _can't_ feel! I shut my heart down so completely because the pain was far too great to endure! You destroyed me! You and your uncertain heart! I had to freeze my own because of you!"

Sobs were escaping my lips, the tears pouring down my cheeks as for the first time, I came face to face with the damage I had inflicted, the aftermath he had been keeping me from seeing. Not many people could ever understand what it is like to see someone you love so completely and unconditionally in so much pain, a pain deeper than any physical injury, and then to know you were the very cause of its existence…. Meg had called him broken; this was worse than broken; it was torn to shreds.

Erik grew quieter, his sobs echoing mine as he told me, "You know, I pretended you were dead for awhile. I had to…because to consider that you were gone, …that you were still existing in the world but with another man…." His voice broke in a sob as he shook me, not nearly as vicious, as if the energy was fleeing him with every admitted word. "I had to stop feeling anything; don't you understand that? If I hadn't, there would have been nothing left of me." Those eyes were bearing into mine, and then suddenly, his head lowered and he buried his masked face against my shoulder and sobbed.

I wanted to hold him, ached to, but his hands on my arms prevented me from it, keeping me in a place I had no intention of leaving as he turned enough to press his one bare cheek to my gown, nuzzling gently to me. My Erik! How I loved him!

Before I could tell him so, he was drawing away from me again, yanking his hands into himself as if they had caused me pain.

"Erik," I pleaded as he jerked back with horrified eyes.

"No! Go! Get away from me!" Tears reverted to anger, and shaking his head, he shouted, "I won't care for you! I won't let you destroy me again!"

"Erik, no, please." My hand was en route toward him when he suddenly caught it midair and twisted it behind my back, dragging me against himself with nothing but fury in his stare.

"No! Damn you!" he raged, squeezing my body against his. "No! You are nothing to me! Nothing! You and your angel's voice out to steal my soul! Get out of my life!"

With that, he practically threw me to the floor as I sobbed uncontrollably, my own heart killing me with its agony. And what could I do? He was too angry, too tormented, and I knew I would not be able to argue. So I conceded, obeyed without a word, and left him there, desperate for something that would feel like peace and an end to the soul-consuming drama I had caused.


	3. Chapter 3

At home in my own apartment, I sought solace, crying as I paced the small rooms without intent or care. My heart ached so deeply, my body exhausted from its suffering, and nothing would ease it.

And so within the hour, I was back on the darkening streets of Paris returning to Erik's lair as my only salvation. The air around me was cold, the sky clouded, and before I even arrived at the opera house, thunder made its presence known with a fine misty rain that struck my uncaring body. It would be a steady downpour soon enough, but that was the only thought I gave as the opera's spires came into view. I didn't have the energy left to consider anything else, not when there wasn't a single thing that could compare to the agony swallowing my heart with every breath that I had to force into uncooperative lungs. And it was a bitter reality when I found the doors locked for the day. Locked…. I couldn't be locked out!

My next venture was the iron gate off of the Rue Scribe, a direct entrance down to the catacombs, and yet it, too, was locked. Erik would have been the only one to lock it, which meant he was out. Out where? …My mind spun round and round with the possibilities, and the worst consideration of all: what if he did not intend to return?

By the time drizzle became a frigid rain that seeped through my thin cloak to chill me, I was beyond caring about such mundane things as cold. Crying unceasing tears, I crouched low near the gate and waited, praying he would come back. He couldn't give up on me now when I knew that, given the chance, I could fix things between us.

I don't know how long I waited there. At some unknown time, the sky had grown completely dark, the rain having engulfed my presence to make me an integral part of it.

…And then I glimpsed his shadow. Like the phantom ghost they called him, he lurked down the street all in black, shielded by his cloak and fedora, but as he saw me, he tilted his face enough that his mask gleamed stark white and gave him away.

"Christine," he breathed as I scurried to my feet, only then realizing I was soaked to the skin with my curls hanging wet and dripping around my face.

"You…you were gone," I stammered, tucking my hair behind my ears with shaking hands.

"I needed time to think." As he spoke, he was walking past me to unlock the gate, ushering me within its shelter without pause. "Dear God, you are drenched! I won't have you catching ill and ruining your audition." Removing his cloak, he set it upon my shoulders, and I was surprised that though soaked outside, it was warm and dry within its black folds, inviting me to burrow my cold body in its deliciousness.

He did not make a single command, only bid me in a shared look to follow, and suddenly, like ages ago, I was being led through the catacombs to his home, equally as naïve and hopeful as once before.

As soon as we arrived, my frigid shivering led me to the hearth of the sitting room, still ablaze with a warm fire that I closed my eyes to bask in, letting it play across the features of my face. At first, I did not even realize that Erik had stayed back; only when I turned and met his constantly observing eye did he even say a word.

"There is dry clothing in your armoire," he said with a solemn expression that would not break. "Your room is just as you left it; I never had the strength to dismantle it…. The rain did not look as if it was intending to let up anytime soon…. Perhaps you should consider staying."

"Here?" I asked, hoping he saw my elation with the very idea of something that had once been such a natural occurrence.

Slowly, he nodded. How I wished I could read him, but he was closed off again and guarded. "I will make you some tea while you change."

And that was his escape, though I knew it would only be temporary if I were to be staying. He would have to face me, and then perhaps I could apologize or say whatever I must to mend this gap.

As he had said, my room was intact perfectly, and I smiled at the familiarity within those walls. It was mine and mine still; Colette had not touched it or tarnished it or sought to take it away. I was reminded of the sheer number of times I had slept in its peach canopy bed, always just so comfortable to stay and oddly knowing only a sense of safety with Erik's nearness. I felt fortunate to realize I would have that again this night.

Soaked through, I did not bother to choose a gown, instead opting for a nightdress and wrap, white silk and lace as had always been my favorite when I had slept here. Combing through my damp curls, I left them loose and drying down my back and over my shoulders, and with one final confident glimpse at my image in my vanity mirror's glass, I hurried back to the sitting room just as Erik was entering with two steaming cups.

Even as he silently offered one to me, I took note of the way his eyes passed over my silhouette, a quick, racing perusal before he took his own cup to his throne-like chair. Trembling, yet praying he didn't notice, I brought mine toward the fire, glad for its flickering flames, and sat down on the plush carpet in front of the hearth where the warmth could dance along my skin.

"Feeling better?" he dared to ask after a long silence stretched the air between us.

I nodded and sipped my tea, savouring the heated path it made to the center of my chilled body. I could pick out a few of the herbs he had used in its making and guessed he had included ones to ward off illness, remembering other times when he had concocted such combinations for me, always overly concerned with my health and well-being.

Silence reigned again. I was mustering courage, knowing I would need every ounce to fend off another battle if that was to be our outcome because there were questions I needed answers to and words that had to be said that I could already conclude would ignite his temper.

Finally with every minute ticking by and not granting reprieve of any sort, never looking away from flames before me and into those demanding eyes, I set my teacup aside so that it would not clank under my shaking hands and softly asked, "You adamantly claimed that I destroyed you completely, but…how could you so quickly choose to find someone to replace me? Was it that easy for you to forget me and move on with her?"

"Forget you?" he whispered back as if the very idea was absurd. "As if I ever could. Colette is not a replacement for you in my life or in my heart. Do you know why I even chose her at all? It wasn't for her talent; she is a decent singer with mediocre potential at best. It was because she was the very opposite of you. Confident, almost cocky, outgoing. She's everything you're not and everything I _never_ wanted you to be. I wanted to choose someone I could _never_ care for or love…as I loved you."

Still, I could not look at him, his words bringing fresh tears to the surface. "But why choose someone at all?"

"Would you have rather I had remained a recluse for the rest of my existence? …Worse yet, I had been contemplating ending my life altogether in those first days without you. Death had to be better than the pain I was feeling. But then there was the music, always the music, calling to me, playing in my veins, and death meant no more music…, no more you singing, always singing in my head. …I was trying to search for a purpose to go on. You had always told me that teaching was the greatest gift one could give to another, to bestow one's genius upon a willing and eager pupil. I hoped I could do that again and inspire someone to something."

It was childish of me to hate him for it, I realized as I listened, and cruel to assume he must either be with me or be alone in the world. …And yet at the same time, all I could think was that no one, not Colette or any other woman on this earth, could love him as I did. Surely that had to mean something to him.

Tucking drying curls back, I only then shifted myself about to face him, and I realized without surprise that he had been carefully watching me the entire time.

"Why are you crying, Christine?" he gently asked with a tender compassion I had not heard in so long. "I thought you were happy, and I wanted that for you. That's why I let you be."

Miserably shaking my head, I replied, "I am not as noble as you are. Returning here and finding that your life went on without me has torn me up inside. I want you to be alone and broken, not with another girl at your side, learning from you, …touching you. I realize how selfish that is, but…." My voice choked off in a sob, and I had to whisper, "I don't want you to be strong."

I had expected shouting and rage from him, another outburst like the earlier one, and I knew he had every right. I had just given him the very impetus for it, but he remained silent, stoic even as he awkwardly sipped his tea with his mask in place before setting his cup on the adjacent table with steady hands that gave nothing away.

In soft tones still, he suddenly asked, "Christine, where is the Vicomte?"

I cringed even as I honestly replied, "Southern part of the country or so Meg says. I really don't know for certain."

His expression never changed. "Did you leave him?"

Nodding slowly, I revealed, "Five months ago."

Only then did he frown, his mind reeling openly with this new information that he couldn't quite seem to comprehend. "Five months…? But then you…."

"I went away," I filled in for him. He was no longer even looking at me, listening attentively yet processing all on his own behind a fixed stare. "Alone, to figure out what exactly I wanted. I had to do it. I was so confused, twisted around by everyone so completely that I felt like I didn't know my own mind anymore. …But you knew that. You sent me away that night because you knew how lost I was."

He gave a single, somber nod, his bewildered eyes still locked unseeing on the hearth. "You would have come to hate me if I had forced you to honor your choice and stay. You were so convinced that you loved the Vicomte. …And did you learn what you truly wanted then?"

My tears created a waver in my voice as I told him, "Yes, but when I came back to get it, I found someone else standing in my place."

"Oh God," he breathed softly, and I saw his tears shimmering in the fire's glow like diamonds in sapphire and emerald eyes that still would not see me. "I…I didn't know. …I thought you were happy this whole time. I thought you were with the Vicomte with the life you wanted. …I forced myself to let you go because that was what you wanted and needed. …I convinced myself that you could never have loved me…."

"But I do," I whispered back, and finally, he met my tearful eyes, desperate for a confirmation that I was only too eager to give him. "I do. I love you, Erik. I've always loved you. I came back to you…, but can you even want me anymore? …If all I've done is hurt you and you've chosen to go on with your life, …does that even leave a place for me?"

Sliding down to the carpet on his knees, he crept closer and closer to my seated place, a strange fear I couldn't understand in his every hesitant motion. "My life," he was whispering, "has lost all meaning without you. Nothing has been the same. I haven't let myself _feel_ or even breathe without you, Christine, and you worry that I don't want you? My God, Christine, you are _everything _to me."

The distance between us was closed, and tentative yet, he lifted his hands to delicately cup my cheeks, brushing my tears away with the pads of his thumbs. He seemed so uncertain, as if he was debating on the inside, and I could not help but ask, "What are you so afraid of, _ange_?"

A sob came out as a gasp from him with my chosen title; _ange_, angel as always, and he cried as he told me, "I've held this love at bay for so long, this absolute longing for you. I buried my heart, and I'm terrified to let myself feel it beat again…. If I let myself love you…and if I lose you again…."  
"You won't; you won't," I was murmuring, praying he would believe me. "I'll never leave you again, Erik."

Holding his vehement stare, I lifted one hand to his mask and easily drew it away, exposing scars I had once so ignorantly denounced. Now all I saw was beauty; all I saw was my love. Imitating his pose, I cupped his bare cheeks in my palms, thrilled at the very brushing of a deformity I yearned to learn every detail of, and I adored him with my eyes.

"Love me, _ange_," I bid tenderly. "Please just love me."

The sense of absolute wonder in his stare took my breath away. It was as if he was marveling over my very existence. And then he was kissing me, his misshapen lips finding mine and releasing every lingering inhibition. Every molecule in my being seemed to come alive by that gentle contact, and as I kissed him back, I knew that he felt the same, crying soft tears that struck my skin with his own swelling emotions.

When he drew back after but a moment, he fervently whispered, "I love you. I love you, Christine." And then by the fire's glow, he lowered that disfigured face to lie so gently, so trustingly in my lap as he cried.

This was my Erik, I thought with an adoring smile down at him. Too much emotion for one body to hold, so much passion pouring out from his very soul. His fists were clenched in the silken skirt of my nightdress, never daring to let go, and I stroked his hair comfortingly, letting my fingertips curve along that corpse's skull.

For a long time, we stayed that way, and then without many words to break into pure feeling, we lay together on the plush couch, his body curled so securely behind mine, arms keeping me close, and we slept.

Shall I describe what it is like to wake in the arms of the one you love? I can imagine no greater thing in the world. To come into awareness feeling so deliciously warm from the inside out. I awoke with the weight of his arms around me, the tickle of his breath as it ruffled the curls at my temple, relaxed still with sleep, and I took a long moment to savour the new sensations. It amazed me that at some unknown point, our heartbeats, our breaths even, had synced themselves with one another's until we were breathing as one, existing as one. Such an unexplainable occurrence! And yet so incredible! I felt only one heartbeat, stronger than mine ever could have been alone, a constant rhythm, a source of such beautiful music in and of itself. I was so utterly completed in that moment, whole and no longer lost. I knew exactly where I belonged, my sense of self tied so intricately to his that it only blossomed to life with his presence. And I knew with a clarity to my core that I would never lose this again.

A few minutes later, I felt Erik stir behind me, felt the shift in breath and heart to a subtle syncopation with mine instead, and I peered over my shoulder at that unmasked face with a tender smile that I could feel radiate through my every limb.

"It wasn't a dream," he whispered more to himself as his initial shock wore away, and he hesitantly mimicked my grin. "You really are here in my arms."

As assurance, I rolled over enough to be able to press a gentle kiss to his marred cheek, noting how his eyes slowly closed as he seemed to relish such a simple contact. Lying back again, I begged, "Please don't tell me that you are going to change your mind and return to being cold to me instead. I can't bear that again, Erik."

"No, no," he whispered back. "How could I possibly when I love you so completely? I never want to be away from you again, Christine."

"Never," I vowed in agreement, my fingers stretching upward to trace along the scars of his cheek with a mixture of gentleness and curiosity in every touch. Even scarred as he was, I found him so beautiful. It had taken me far too long with far too many dishonest denials to realize and believe that.

Sighing and arching closer to my hand, he replied, "I guess I won't be having lunch with Colette today."

"You weren't going to eat anyway," I reminded him with the slightest fluttering of a giggle in my voice.

"Quite true. She has never seen my real face, and I had no intention of showing it to her. The rest of the world does not find such things as acceptable as you do." Turning his cheek, he gave a hesitant kiss to my probing fingers, and I took the opportunity to run them along the upraised outline of his misshapen lips. "How can you touch me that way and not be disgusted?"

I deliberately met his dubious stare with my confidence on the issue. "Being disgusted is being ignorant and naïve."

"And you are not naïve?" he teased, and I gave a playful scowl back to him.

"Not anymore," I argued. "How can I know disgust for what I desire and love most in the world?"

His attention seemed caught by one thing as arching a brow with uncertainty, he inquired softly, "Desire, Christine?"

A warm blush tinged my cheeks; I could not stop its appearance or progression over my pale skin as I timidly nodded. Admitting to it seemed brazen to the modest side of me, but then again Erik and I did not follow convention or societal proprieties, and therefore revealing such an intimate thing could not be considered unacceptable; it was necessary, and as I could see reflected across that unmasked face, savoured.

Bending near, he let one hand idly caress my own cheek, as intrigued by my features as I was by his, and softly said, "Do you know what it is that you are saying, or are you far too innocent to have any real idea? I cannot even tell for sure. The Christine who left here, …who left me all those months ago seemed to shun the very concept of such a thing, but now…you're looking at me with this glow in your eyes, like since you suddenly know what you want, you are absolutely convicted to having it."

A smile broke through my lingering blush. I was just so overwhelmed and delighted that he understood and that, at last, he saw what I had been aching for him to see for weeks.

With my fingertips caressing his dear face yet, I told him, "When I went away, everything was just so quiet and so still. I had nothing to hide behind instead of facing the truths within my own heart, the ones I had for so long buried. I realized that the only time I have been truly happy in my life was when I was here with you, that that was when I felt whole and complete…and loved. For too long, I foolishly let Raoul twist my mind with his prejudices until I was believing them as well with no real proof to back them up. You never gave me reason to run from you; I let Raoul do that, and I permitted it so readily because he and I shared a past, …because he knew my father before he died and therefore must have had my best interests at heart and must be seeing what I wasn't. It was cruel on my part, and I beg your forgiveness for all of the pain I caused you as a foolish child questioning her own heart."

"No more than what I have inflicted upon you these last few weeks," he justified with a somber shake of his head. "Forgive my own ignorant cruelty. I have been utterly intolerable to you."

"Part of it was a well-deserved lesson," I argued in his defense for him. "Jealousy sometimes must be felt and experienced to realize its true potency. No wonder you wanted to kill Raoul! I very nearly strangled Colette myself!"

"Indeed?" There was the tinge of a chuckle in his voice, one I had rarely heard before and relished blatantly as he regarded me with intrigued amusement. "And has her every doting glance and smile grated on your nerves? Has every haphazard touch made you long to scream that I am yours and only yours? Because only if it has can you claim to have known what I felt."

"You are enjoying this far too much," I taunted in return, delighting in his playful demeanor with a subject that had been my sole obsession for days. "And will I now have to do just that then? Claim you as mine and only mine to her so that she retracts her claws from you?"

"Why, you possessive little thing!" he exclaimed, a full laugh escaping him this time. "I don't recall you ever going to such extremes with Raoul, and he was a Vicomte with dozens of ladies eyeing him at every turn."

"Yes, but I never truly _wanted_ Raoul or his constant affections, so I cannot call that a relevant comparison."

"Oh? But you do want me and mine?" Within that air of light banter was a flame that, although not new, was far less guarded or concealed this time. Desire…. He wanted me to see it, wanted me to understand exactly what I was asking for.

More than words, I dared to shift my body the remainder of the way toward his until I could press my curves flush to him. Shameless? Perhaps, but considering how long I had sought to be exactly where I now was, it seemed acceptable and right. I felt his entire frame go rigid and stiff with his sudden surprise, a small gasp caught by a bit lower lip, and even as a long minute passed, he did not seem to be able to relax again.

"What are you tempting me to?" He muttered the question only half to me, shaking his head. "We've never been this way before."

"Well, …once," I corrected, never moving or allowing a breath of air between our bodies. "Do you even remember, Erik?" His furrowed brow and confused regard urged me to continue. "It was one of the first nights I stayed here with you in this house. You had one of those horrible nightmares that you cry out to endure, and I didn't know. I thought you were hurt, so I rushed out of my bed to you without thought of consequence. Does this sound familiar to you at all?"

He nodded solemnly. "I had fallen asleep in my chair here in the sitting room before the fireplace. I remember being glad for that later. Had I been in bed, I wouldn't have been wearing my mask…; a silly thing to consider my face would scare you when I did such a good job of that on my own with the mask in place."

"I tried to wake you from your dream," I continued for him. "You seemed to be in such agony in your own mind. You grabbed me by my shoulders and yanked me down against you. Of course, you were still asleep and didn't know that what you were doing. And when I was finally able to rouse you, you made me promise never to approach you again when you were in a nightmare no matter how much you were screaming."

"Dear God, I felt so guilty," he admitted earnestly, stroking my cheek with reflections of it even now, so long later. "I was terrified I had lost you for good after that. What I could have done to you in that state! Do you even realize? In my head, you were one of the same assailants who were beating me and torturing me. I had no idea who you actually were."

That was not exactly what I was seeking by bringing up this tale, and in all actuality, in my every consideration and memory of it, I had never concluded what he was insinuating. I just trusted him that much, probably more than I should have in such a dire situation, but he was my guardian, after all.

"Wait," I bid to his rampant guilt. "No, when I recall it…and I have dozens and dozens of times, I only think about those few moments you were holding me to you…, as close as we are now." I knew I was blushing, and yet I went on, timid in my whisper. "How many times have I thought of it? It was one of the only embraces we've ever shared. …In my mind, I remember how you felt against me, …how much I yearned to be closer and closer still."

The effects my admissions were having on him were vividly displayed across that face, and those mismatched eyes widened yet as I dared to arch myself to him, indulging the soft begging of my body.

"This is desire, isn't it?" the virgin in me asked my always-vigilant teacher. "This burning, this ache within."

"God, yes," he breathed hoarsely, edging down to rub his scarred cheek against my flawless one as I eagerly nuzzled him back. "You denied it before, and even when I tried to hide it from you in order to keep you, you ran from me and this…. I felt so sure revulsion was all you'd ever hold for me."

"No, no," I practically moaned, laying light kisses to his hairline and down along his temple. "I was afraid. I ran because this is so powerful that it wants to consume me, …and I want to let it."

"Let it," he commanded in a desperate plea. "I don't know if I can bear it if you don't."

It was coursing through me in throbbing waves, stealing coherency with its spell. When all I had had of it was a tremulous taste, it amazed me to learn how overwhelming it could be, …and yet I wasn't afraid as I had been once before, not with Erik's arms so firmly around me, his presence my anchor as always. I knew enough in these matters to not be shocked by the growing hardness pressed to my lower stomach, and yet I squirmed against it with a mixture of my nerves and my own need. For me, both were in equal amounts, and I was teetering in the middle, unsure in which direction I'd go.

I felt the harsh breath he sucked into his lungs. He was teasing the side of my neck with light kisses that I shivered to receive, eagerly tilting my head to expose more skin for his eager assault.

"Erik," I whispered against his ear with my own random kisses between words, "I never want you to stop."

"You won't deny me?"

"No," I vowed, clasping him with hands that shook in spite of my resolve. "No, …I want you too much."

I was eagerly expecting desirous declarations, kisses, touches, not the actual frustrated groan I got as he lifted his head and met my eye with a cringe.

"I am absolutely in a fever to have you," he huskily bid even as he was shaking his head. "But I have a lunch date to rid myself of first. Dear God, Christine, I won't be able to think of anything but this all day. How am I going to keep my composure and prevent myself from simply grabbing you and kissing you with every ounce of passion in my body?"

"You will have to practice control, _ange_," I teased, caressing his cheek. "As will I so that I won't pounce atop Colette and tear her hair out by the roots."

Chuckling softly, he gazed at me with such adoration in his eyes amidst every lingering haze of desire, and I relished it with body and soul.

Our passionate encounter had to end to both of our reluctance, and by the time I left the privacy of my room, dressed and primped for the day, Erik was the pristine teacher again, masked and elegant, his greeting smile bearing a trace of hesitation at its curves that vanished when I immediately went to his side and lay a kiss against the cold material of the mask, missing his scars.

"Stay," he gently commanded, sliding his hand into my curls and letting them twirl about his fingers. "I'm not sure I have the strength to watch you leave."

"I don't think your little protégé would appreciate my presence as you destroy her schoolgirl's infatuation." It took better sense to answer for me when I ached to argue against it in a jealous fit. In this instance, his earlier joke of screaming that he was only mine seemed far too appealing; I wasn't sure I wouldn't go through with it.

"Promise me that you've realized that your jealousy is unjustified," he said, and it was as if he had read my mind. "You're the only one I've ever loved and desired. _You_ are my protégé, my angel, my diva." His arms had come around my waist, drawing me close, and I was only too eager to let him. "You know you're going to have to learn to control that bit of a jealous temper you have."

His playfulness was only half-valid, and I arched one brow skeptically as I read him in return. "What do you mean? What are you concocting in that head of yours?"

"Actually," he answered, adding an appeasing kiss to my brow, "I thought to take on more students. I find that you've always been right, and I have an affinity for teaching. I thought to establish us a home outside of the city and away from the opera house itself and advertise as a music teacher; voice, instrument, theory and practice, I could teach it all. It would make a decent living."

His words were only somewhat penetrating my mind since it had been caught by one particular detail. "Establish _us_ a home?" I inquired, desperate to seem nonchalant, but my lips betrayed me with a shy smile I could not contain.

"My own jealous streak," he admitted. "I want to be gentlemanly and ask your concession, but I find that I prefer assuming as much because I refuse the alternative. I will _not_ face a future without you, Christine, not now that you've given me such hope for all I thought I'd lost."

I knew it would seem pathetic to some that I actually relished his words; I _wanted_ no choice in the matter because I had already made the most important one of all simply to be there with him.

Grinning brightly, I made my own proposition on the matter. "I will only allow you to teach other students if that leaves enough time for you to teach me as well. I can be rather demanding as you know. …I might keep your hands full for hours on end." Yes, I was teasing him with a provocative suggestiveness that made my cheeks redden with a blush, but to see the hunger ignite again in his eyes as they trailed over me kept me from regret.

"Hours?" he questioned with an arched brow. "I was intending for _days_." As he leant near, I eagerly awaited his kiss, but just before my anticipation could be assuaged, he drew back with a soft huff, explaining to my furrowing brow, "My mask."

"Is that all?" I did not hesitate to raise a hand and lift it from obstruction, savouring every deformity that came into view. "There's the face of the man I love."

Delighting in my sentiments, he no longer paused as he caught my lips in his, devouring me in a kiss so ravenous that I clutched at him with desperate arms to remain on my feet at all. I had given in to desire earlier; now I leapt at it headfirst, yearning for the something more that this kiss promised. His tongue delved within my parting lips, seeking mine as if it was his necessary mate and entwining with it, teasing me with every gratuitous stroke until I was writhing my body against his, burning from within.

Perhaps it was solely due to that engrossing kiss that we did not hear the front door open or footsteps entering the hallway. Not until Colette's sharp gasp of surprise resounded through passion's bubble did we know, and as I lifted guilty eyes to the doorway, I noticed Erik duck his head against my shoulder to conceal his face. I knew it was a bit late for that; her expression told all she had seen without the question needing to be asked.

"I…I…I'll be in the music room," she stammered after a long uncomfortable moment of she and I simply staring at one another, and before I could fathom a plausible course of action, she was scurrying away.

"Erik," I whispered gently when she was gone, setting his mask in his seeking hand and watching him replace it with a growing sense of dread. I could remember days past when he would have murdered anyone who had glimpsed even the silhouette of his uncovered face. And the way that Erik's eyes were darting frantically between the door and me, I was put slightly on edge, unsure what he was considering so seriously.

"She saw my face," he stated as if to confirm what he already knew to be fact. "She…she was never supposed to."

"I know," I crooned, hoping to pacify him as I gently stroked his only exposed cheek. "Let me talk to her. I can make sure she understands."

"I don't need you to fight my battles for me," he suddenly snapped, and yet I saw him immediately regret his tone, shaking his head in frustration. "I mean-"

"Erik, this is _not_ a battle," I corrected before he could finish. "It's a girl who was surprised, startled even, just as I once was all those months ago when I first saw your face. Your response then was anger, and look what it did to us, the way it ripped us apart for so long." I had won; I knew he couldn't argue with my point. "Now let me go, and I'll take care of it. All right?"

Reluctant yet, he gave one single nod, and with an added caress to my cheek that I savoured, he let me leave the room.

I found Colette sitting on the piano bench, staring fixedly at the keys, though her eyes seemed unfocused beyond whatever her mind was showing her within. She did not hear me enter the room until I was standing near her side, and with another gasp, she jumped at my unthreatening presence, her hand pressing to her heart.

"Oh, Christine!" she sighed with relief.

"I didn't mean to frighten you," I said as I took a seat on the bench with her, close enough to note the paleness of her usually healthy complexion.

"I…I'm just a bit preoccupied." Her attention reverted to the keys so that I was staring at her profile; it was almost as if she was terrified to look me in the eye. "I'm sorry to have interrupted…whatever it was I interrupted. I didn't know you and Erik were…, but then again I always had a feeling that his heart was far away…with someone else."

"By my own fault; it took us so long and so much pain to just love each other," I replied guiltily. "It seems ridiculous now to have run from him when he's always been the only one."

"He…, the phantom." She said the word in a hushed whisper. "I mean I knew who he was in regard to the legend, but I didn't…. I mean I never guessed what he truly was hiding beneath the mask."

How to explain to her, …how to even begin…. The truth maybe…. "Erik's face is…disfigured. But even though it is different, it's just a face. It's just skin and bone. It doesn't change anything important, like who he is or the brilliance of his soul."

"I know…. I was just…surprised." Finally dragging her eyes to mine, I was shown the vast amount of discomfort and guilt she was truly suffering. "I know it's improper and…rude of me to ask, but…. You're not afraid of him. But weren't you shocked the first time you saw his face?"

"It wasn't shock as much as a necessity to look away and pretend it wasn't real," I revealed openly to her intent fascination. "It couldn't be real…because in my head, he was perfect. It took me time to realize that perfection doesn't exist; it is a perception. To me who loves him so much, Erik _is_ perfect and beautiful, more so because he is different. The rest of the world might never understand that. They will always judge him on his face, but I would hope that you, who have glimpsed what a genius he is, could see past something so mundane to the exceptional human being he is beneath it."

I did not have to question it to know that Erik was lingering outside of the doorway beyond our line of vision as he eavesdropped, but I gave no hint of it as I waited for Colette to respond. She seemed to be absorbing my every word with deep consideration.

Finally, she gave a small nod of her tentative agreement. "He's the greatest teacher I've ever had. …Will you go and ask him if we can begin my lesson now? …And can you also make sure that he isn't upset with me?"

I nodded with as much of a smile as I could muster. I was willing to be kind and friendly with her, but I still had to feel a bit on edge when it came to her intentions with Erik. Jealousy was not the sort of emotion to simply fade away, but then again what genuine emotion was?

As soon as I was beyond the music room doorway, meeting Erik's spying eye without surprise, he dragged me into his arms and stroked my hair tenderly.

"Thank you," he softly bid with the slightest catch in his voice, and I knew it was for far more than keeping his student.

"I love you." To me, that was reason enough for everything I did on a daily basis; this was but one more act to add to a list.

"Tell me that you intend to stay." His persuasions were reliant on fingertips trailing my throat that I arched to meet. "I want to finish what was interrupted."

How could I refuse when I was aching as much as he was? Catching his roaming hand in mine, I guided it to my lips to kiss each fingertip with added promise before I let him leave me, believing him so completely when one last shared look vowed forever.

A week later, and it was the afternoon of the auditions. I lingered in the background during most, watching Colette perform well enough to earn her a small supporting role in the next production. When it was my turn, I felt the shock go through the audience, but I held my head high, casting one furtive glance to the seemingly still curtains of Box 5 with certainty that my darling angel was there.

In the instant I opened my mouth and began to sing, I felt his pride radiate over me, fueling my inner diva and keeping me regal even as I noticed the agape and envious stares all around, including on the face of my sometimes friend Colette. Most of it paled in comparison to the thrilled expressions my managers were sharing and the beaming smile on Meg's lips. I was offered the leading soprano role the moment I walked off of the stage and was whisked off to sign a contract under a steady stream of negotiations that lasted far longer than my patience wanted to allow.

The very minute I left the managers' office, a hand caught me from behind, and I giggled delight to be dragged into the damp catacombs by the Opera Ghost himself. Funny to consider that had the same thing happened a year ago, I would have screamed in terror. Now I savoured it.

Erik's lips were seeking mine in the instant we were concealed within the dark passages, his mask tossed carelessly to the stone floor. One kiss, another, and it seemed to take a great effort for him to draw back and attempt speech.

"My God, Christine, you were perfection," he beamed. His hands were making restless patterns up and down my back as I eagerly melted toward that touch. "You left them all green with envy after that performance. I could barely restrain myself from shouting 'Brava' and 'Encore' with that last high note."

"And that would have brought an unneeded resurgence of my phantom patron," I warned, my own hands sliding within the hem of his shirt at his waist to find his chilled skin longingly. "The last time, you guided my career a little too well, _ange_. I was the constant target of their gossip."

"You deserve the best," he insisted back, "and I was just making sure that you had it. There seems to me to be little wrong with that." His words were cut off before he could continue, and he moaned and arched toward my touch as my hands splayed flat against his chest beneath that infuriating barrier of clothing. "Continue on like that, and I'll forget my gentlemanly manners and throw you down right here in the dark catacombs."

My brows arched suggestively at such a threat. "Really? Is that meant to sound unpleasant to me? Because I'm too fixated on the throwing me down right here part to consider it that awful of a prospect."

"Indeed?"

He never let me answer. The next thing I knew to my squeal of excitement, he followed through on his words, and it went without protest or complaint from me. And oh, how I adored him!


End file.
